


Whoever Said It's Better

by HitanTenshi



Series: Solavellan Short Stories [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, would take place days after the end of the main game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 18:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17944619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HitanTenshi/pseuds/HitanTenshi
Summary: “Whoever said it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all can tell that to a knife in their skull.”Dorian gives a breathy laugh. “I would drink to that, if we had drinks."





	Whoever Said It's Better

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of me processing solavellan angst. It also includes a little more information about Zeale's family situation at the beginning — hopefully the clues are plenty to piece together who her and Evindal's biological father is (because I'm a sap and I wanted to tie all my protagonists across games together in a family / found family)

It had been impulsive.

She’s always been impulsive — everyone in her family is. Her mama had certainly been impulsive when she’d propositioned a handsome elf of Dalish heritage to the end of carrying good stock into the next generation. Her papa (though she never calls him that) probably features in an illustration in some dictionary’s definition of impulsive, given not only his acceptance of said proposition, but also his behavior since (the highlights being: working as an Antivan Crow, failing to kill a Grey Warden, and then devoting himself to the very same Grey Warden in every sense of the word). And her twin brother takes muchly after their parents, all too eager to cast a net into the sea of passionate prospects now that he has come of age.

Zeale had always considered herself more level-headed in this area. Her impulsivity had demonstrated itself in the quickness of her blades, the lack of hesitation in ending life. In matters of the heart, she had thought herself cold, unaffectable. One must survive before one can afford to get distracted with passion. (Of course Evindal, who had studied magic with their mama rather than scour the wilds for food, would deceive himself into thinking he has such luxuries.)

And yet here she stands in the tower study adjacent to Skyhold’s main hall, stricken with pain as she takes in the bareness of the central table.

Solas had left nothing behind.

It had been impulsive to let down her guard, to allow Solas into the heart she had thought unbreachable. Perhaps she carries the same weakness as the rest of her family after all — she had simply done a better job of burying it until now.

Pain channels into anger, and impulse rears its head once more. With a great shove, Zeale sends the table clattering onto its side. It’s not enough. She kicks at the underside, imagining each dent she leaves is in Solas’s face instead of the unfeeling wood.

The noise, of course, does not fail to catch attention from those on the balconies ringing the tower. Zeale doesn’t care what they think of their renowned Inquisitor beating a table to death, even if she can feel their eyes cautiously watching her from behind the railings. Footfalls enter her auditory periphery. She’s ready to ignore whoever has come to admonish her for this childish display as soon as a hand grips her shoulder. She rounds on its owner, vitriol poised on her tongue, but Dorian’s expression is the farthest thing from rebuking.

“Get it all out,” he says, uncommonly solemn.

Thus encouraged, Zeale makes target practice of the table, plucking each and every knife from her belt and sinking it deep into the abused wood. Retrieve and repeat. It’s amazing how much it helps, at least for the time being.

Once she is well and truly out of breath, Dorian walks her to the nearest wall and motions for her to sit beside him, their backs to the stone.

“Leliana has sent everyone scurrying away from this section of the keep. It’s just us now.” His shoulder nudges hers. “If you want to talk, I’m listening.”

“I’m not very good at talking.”

“I know. I’ll still listen.”

The mark of a true friend.

For a long time, she can’t find a way to put her remaining anger into words. Even when she does, she draws on the words of another.

“Whoever said it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all can tell that to a knife in their skull.”

Dorian gives a breathy laugh. “I would drink to that, if we had drinks. Would you like me to fetch some?”

Zeale shakes her head. “I might end up killing more than just a table.”

“Ah. Yes, for the sake of the rest of the furniture, you should probably abstain.”

Dorian and his jokes. But they are a balm in their own way, which is good because all she wants to do is tear something apart in a rage even Bull would pause before challenging.

“I want to hate him. I wish I could hate him.”

Finding a pebble on the floor, Zeale chucks it at the corpse of the table.

“Why can’t I?”

“Love does tend to have its way with us like that.”

“Fuck love.”

Dorian laughs again. “Would that it could be so easy to dislodge it.”

“...He took everything.”

“The room does look dreadfully bare without him.”

“Not just that,” Zeale clarifies. She lifts a hand to her own face, trying to call back the memory of  Solas’s touch. “From the first time we spoke, he was taking. Challenging everything I’d ever believed as Dalish. I hated it. I wanted to be certain of things. So I threw every question I could think of at him, hoping to find some hole in his logic, but there wasn’t any. All I managed to do was give him the chance to convince me he was right. He had experiences, and all I had were opinions. Eventually, I had to admit that I… that my people were wrong. And just when I thought I’d accepted that, he told me more. And I believed him, and he… I let him remove my vallaslin.”

“I will admit I did wonder what had happened to them.”

“And he didn’t even give me a moment to breathe after that before he put an end to it — to _us_. I didn’t want an end. I know he didn’t, either. So why did he?”

“Perhaps he always intended to leave once Corypheus was defeated? Perhaps… he thought it was kinder to give you some warning of his departure by pulling back? It would certainly explain his continual hesitancy to enjoy the full merits of your relationship.”

“Then he should never have encouraged me to start something in the first place.”

Dorian sighs. “If only we could be so in control of our own hearts.”

“Even if he had plans to leave, couldn’t he have changed them? Couldn’t… Didn’t he have a reason to stay? When he said I could make all the difference by defeating Corypheus, I thought he meant… And then he just…” Having run out of objects to throw at the table, Zeale grips the seams of her trousers, needing an anchor in the chaos of her emotions. “Was I not… Am I just not worth it?”

Dorian leans closer until his temple rests against hers. “Were I inclined toward the fairer sex, I would show you just how much you _are_ worth it.”

That, at least, brings the faintest of smiles to her face. “A high compliment.”

“You deserve the highest of compliments, my friend. And you deserve the best of men. Frankly, I don’t know if I can forgive Solas for how he’s left things between you.”

“It’s nice to know you won’t hold me back when I go to punch every inch of his stupid egg of a head the next time I see him.”

“Hold you back? I would cheer you on. I’d set up a lemonade stand and sell refreshments and tickets.”

That mental image makes her laugh in earnest. “Please tell me you’ll actually do that.”

“I’ll even loop Varric in. We can get passers-by to place bets on how many punches Solas can take before crumpling under the weight of the Inquisitor’s fury.”

Zeale nudges shoulders with him, feeling better than she has in days. With Dorian, Varric, and the rest of the inner circle giving their support, she can hold together — at least until she finds Solas and gives him several sharp pieces of her mind.

“I’ll look forward to it.”


End file.
